Lauren Henderson - Kiss of Death

Sad as it was to write the last Scarlett Wakefield book, it was also hugely satisfying to weave all the threads together, and to bring all the characters together for the final showdownespecially as it meant that I got to spend some time with my sister and her family in Edinburgh researching locations! Holyroodhouse, the Scottish Parliament, Arthurs Seat, and the cemetery are all as described, as are Leith and the Shore bar and restaurant. My nephew Ewan Macintyre very kindly drove me to the quarry party location and gave his name to the Ewan of the book; like that Ewan, hes a very talented musician, singer, and puppet maker. You can find him at ewan-macintyre.co.uk. Thanks to Kim and Symon for putting us upif you like puppetry, you should visit their site, puppetlab.com. And, not wanting to leave out anyone in their very artistic family, I should mention my niece Rachaels online magazine, Brikolage (brikolage.co.uk). If youre an aspiring artist or writer, its a great place to submit your work. Nuala Kennedy is a real person, and her music is just as beautiful as I describe it in the book; you can find her at nualakennedy.com. The main license Ive taken is to move the time and location of the Celtic Connections festival, which actually happens in Glasgow around January and is superbI really strongly recommend it.

Right, thats all the Edinburgh info done! I need to thank Stephanie Lane Elliott, Krista Vitola, and Beverly Horowitz at Delacorte Press for being such strong supporters of Scarlett Wakefields adventures. Delacorte are a real powerhouse, and Im very lucky to be with them now and for the future. My American agent, Deborah Schneider, and her right-hand woman, Cathy Gleason, always have my back, and I love them both to pieces. Chanchal, Gabrielle, Bonnie, Lauren, Cecilia, Damaris, Heather, Brooke, Amanda, Paula, Maggie, Dyanhea, Rebecca, Erin, Carlie, Dyana, Kelly, Cynthia, Nikki, Lucia, CNH, Zoe, Gabriella, Magda, Starr, Chelsie, Stephanie, Laura, Lisa Marie, Tia, Carolina, your lovely messages on MySpace were a real source of encouragement to me as I wrote this seriesthanks so much! Randon Burns, thanks so much for your unflagging, puckish support and enthusiasm for my YA books. And Claudia Gabel, without you Scarlett would never have existed. Thank you so much for your help, encouragement, and tough love!

Now that Ive come to the end of Scarletts adventures, Im really excited to be starting a new seriesset in Italy, featuring four English and American girls, mystery, adventure, sun-kissed days and sultry nights, dark family secrets, and, of course, quite a few hot Italian boys! Look for the first book in the series this time next year.

ALSO BY LAUREN HENDERSON

Kiss Me Kill Me
Kisses and Lies
Kiss in the Dark

Lauren Henderson is the author of several acclaimed tart noir mystery novels for adults, as well as the witty romance handbook Jane Austens Guide to Dating, which has been optioned for film development by the producer of Legally Blonde and 10 Things I Hate About You. Lauren was born and raised in London, where she lives with her husband. Her first three novels about Scarlett Wakefield, Kiss Me Kill Me, Kisses and Lies, and Kiss in the Dark, are available from Delacorte Press. Visit the author online at laurenhenderson.net or myspace.com/mslaurenhenderson.

This is absolutely the worst thing thats ever happened to me.

In the dark, I look sideways at Taylor, whos staring straight ahead, her body stiff with horror. I can tell that she feels the same as I do. She and I have been through so much together; youd think wed be immune to anything life can throw at us. We were warned, I suppose. But nothing could have prepared us for this level of atrocity.

I pull out my silenced phone and glance down at it. Oh God. I turn the face to Taylor, nudging her, so that she can see it too. In the glow from the phone, her lips are stretched back over her teeth in a grimace, her eyes narrowed in almost physical pain. She looks like a gargoyle. The bluish light makes her seem even more eerie.

I cant bear it! she whispers.

We have to, I say grimly, looking from side to side just to confirm what I already know: theres no escape.

The clock on my phone is telling me there are fifteen more minutes of this. Fifteen more minutes of sheer hell.

I close my eyes to block out the sight. But then I have to listen to the sounds, and theyre even worse without the visuals. Hell, I imagine, is probably something along these lines. Trapped forever, forced to endure this torture, without ever being able to put an end to your misery.

Andan extra twist of the knifehaving to watch your best friend go through it too.

A particularly excruciating screech snaps my eyes open in reflex. Nails scraping down a blackboard are soothing compared to this. And yet, if I had to describe the single worst part of the scene in front of me, I actually dont think it would be the noise theyre making, atrocious and earsplitting though that is.

It would be the clothes.

I really dont know much about Norway. It has fjords, apparently, and lots of snow, and the people are tall and blond and very, very white: that was pretty much the limit of my Norway Fun Facts up till this moment. But now, looking at the four members of the Norwegian folk group Hrti Slrtbrten (or something like thatI may have got some of those umlauts wrong) sawing grimly away at their violins onstage, I can add that apparently, Norwegians have no access to anything resembling modern fashion. They look as if some major blockade isolated them in the late 1980s. The two girls are wearing deeply unflattering red taffeta dresses with square-cut bodices, drop waists, and flouncy skirts, the kind of frocks a vengeful bride would choose for the bridesmaids shes being forced to include in her wedding. And the two boys, in shiny red shirts tucked into black pleated trousers, could be the waiters at the same event.

They are all tall and blond; I got that part right. And theyre smiling and nodding at each other as they stand in line, dragging their bows over the strings, deliberately sawing out the kind of noises that would make any normal person stop in horror, stare at their violin, and apologize to the audience for having completely forgotten to tune it before going out on stage.

Taylor and I are right in the middle of the row of seats, thoroughly wedged in by other Wakefield Hall girls. And Miss Carter has strategically placed herself on one end of the row, with Aunt Gwen on the other. To get out, wed have to clamber over everyone, plus face the wrath of the scariest teachers in the school. I actually duck down and look under my seat, wondering if it might be possible to crawl underneath itthere arent that many rows behind us, maybe I could sneak out that way.

But then, as Im curled over, head between my knees, I realize somethings happened onstage. Theres rustling all around me; people are sitting up straighter. The screeching of the violins is even shriller and less tuneful, if thats possible. Narrowly avoiding cracking my head on the seat in front as I straighten up again, I catch sight of the stage just in time to join, gobsmacked, in the collective gasp as the girls fall back to one side, the boys to the other, and a fifth member of Hrti Slrtbrten appears from the wings.

Hes wearing the same silky red shirt as the other two boys, but its sleeves are belled out, then gathered back in at the wrists, making it, technically, more of a blouse. And if that werent bad enough, its accessorized with a black bow tie at the neck. His hair is gelled up and spiked out as if a pineapple had exploded on top of his head. And though hes tall and blond like the other group members, I cant honestly say that hes as white as they are, because his face is a mass of acne breakouts that match the flaming red of his shirt.